Living the Nightmare
by wrytingtyme
Summary: Sometimes making the right decision can have negative consequences. Cuddy centric with House & Cuddy FS. Spoilers through the first ten minutes of House's Head.


A/N1 This was written for CuddyFest on LJ in response to prompt #72 "Five nightmares Cuddy has regularly" I love my beta readers! The Amazing silverwaterfall and her ninja beta Kari and the wonderful and wise silentsnark. I'm deeply lucky to have their help. All mistakes that remain belong to me and me alone. All comments and concrit are welcomed.

Living the Nightmare

I.

**Sunday Night**

_The waves were huge. Lisa let her eyes take them in, struggling to breathe, struggling not to panic as she attempted to steer the rowboat, which was bucking and spinning in the rough sea more like an angry horse than a watercraft. The oars slipped through her grasping fingers and fought her arms, and all the time the baby, stuffed in a basket at the front of the boat, kept crying. _

_The high distressed wail ripped her heart but she didn't dare leave the oars to go and offer it comfort. She took a shaky breath, pushed the oars with all the strength she had, taking the rise on the swell of the monster wave and not, this time, being swept under it. But a larger wave always seemed to be waiting just beyond it; each time she crested a rise she let her eyes scan for land, or boats, or help of any kind, but there was none._

_And the baby wailed. _

_When Lisa was hit it was from behind. The force of the water smashed her to the bottom of the boat before ripping her from it. Desperately, blindly she reached with her arms, and only the water filled them. She could feel herself being lifted again as she struggled upward, searching for air, and felt herself fall from the top of the wave..._

Cuddy woke gasping and drenched with sweat. The covers had somehow crept up around her head. She clawed them off with shaking hands and sat up, she rubbed her face with her hands. There was no water, there was no lost boat, and there was no baby.

She burst into tears.

**Monday Morning**

"Good Morning, Dr. Cuddy."

"Good morning, Brenda."

"You need an assistant," the nurse said, as Cuddy flicked through her messages at the clinic desk.

"I know." She made an apologetic gesture to the desk. Her inability to keep an assistant added exponentially to the clinic nurses' workload. "I'll call the temp agency again."

"Whatever you say, Dr. Cuddy." Brenda replied. There was stoicism and coolness in Brenda's tone that was unusual, but not, looking at the messages Cuddy had just been handed, a surprise. Everyone on the board of directors and half the board of governors had left messages asking for a return call.

There was nothing like a 200,000 fine to paint a target on your back.

"I'll be at my desk," Cuddy told the nurse, and fled to her outer office where she switched the assistant's phone so it would forward directly to her instead of the clinic. She glanced at the clock. It was barely 9:00 a.m. Today was going to be a bitch.

II.

**Monday Night**

_She couldn't get to the baby. _

_She was walking, tottering as fast as she could on a maze of steel girders high above the city. She could see the cradle nestled precariously between two supporting struts._

_And of course she could hear the crying. _

_But she wasn't alone. Someone else was, she knew, making their own way to the cradle. She didn't know what their intentions were; she just knew she HAD to get there first. But she couldn't run, not in heels, not this high up. She tottered precariously as she stumbled toward the cradle as fast as she could. _

_She turned and twisted until she found herself, unexpectedly, on a clear path to her goal. She could see into the cradle now, the infant tucked within it red faced and angry, and she was ahead. She would make it - she felt her breath burst out in relief even as she scrambled forward._

_A hard wind came from behind her, invisible and fierce, the force unexpected, and she found herself tumbling, falling down, her eyes drawn upwards even as a dark figure stooped over the cradle… _

She sat up, breathing harshly and groaned.

It took a few moments to get herself under control; she flicked the light on and looked at the old-fashioned alarm clock she kept on her bedside table. It was 4:00 a.m. She sighed and got up, grabbed her robe, and started coffee before heading to the living room to look over the paperwork she'd brought home.

She picked up the e-mail she'd gotten the day before, notifying her of the Board of Governors decision to hold an impromptu hearing Friday afternoon on the "incident that resulted in a great risk to patient care," _except,_ she thought, _it had saved the patient_, "and resulted in a punitive fine by the New Jersey Accreditation Board," which was harder to argue with.

She remembered Dr. Conway's smug superciliousness when he'd informed her of the fine, when he'd had the gall to lecture _her_ on the importance of the rigid application of procedures, she'd managed to nod and look contrite, instead of ripping his glasses off and shoving them down his throat, which was what she'd wanted to do.

She went through Evan Grier's file, again and sighed. This was gonna suck.

**Tuesday**

She'd been distracted all day, her mind occupied with the hearing, trying to see a way of not ending up fired, humiliated and a failure, so she didn't react to the loud thwack of a rubber tipped cane hitting the wall; she also didn't notice the flame-decorated shaft of wood that appeared in front of her, and consequently plowed right into it.

"Wow," House said, "not even Wilson's_ that_ unobservant."

Cuddy glared up at him. He was leaning on the cane, tall, slim and… insane. She never really regretted hiring him. But there were times she did regret not killing him the first time she'd wanted to.

"Shut up," she said, scrambling to her feet and brushing off her skirt. "You're a menace."

"Aw shucks, I bet you say that to all the fellas," he said fluttering his eyelashes at her.

Cuddy turned and started walking. House walked beside her, his long legs keeping up with her easily despite his disability.

"What do you want, House?"

"Me? Nothing. The board of governors now... I hear they want blood."

Cuddy stopped abruptly, and House had to retreat a few steps as she looked at him seriously.

"Do I want to know how you found out about it?" she asked him quietly.

"No, no you don't."

"It's none of your business, House," she said, making a sweeping gesture with her hand. "Forget it." She started walking again, and sighed when she realized he was still beside her. She turned abruptly, heading for the stairs; it was a desperation move but she wasn't in the mood for House today.

"Since they're objecting to me saving the life of my patient, it sounds like my business."

"They aren't," Cuddy rolled her eyes to heaven. "They are objecting to the chief administrator of the hospital approving a dangerous break in protocol."

"Like I said—"

Cuddy reached for the handle of the door that led to the stairs and only managed to pull her fingers back just in time to avoid getting them smacked by the crook of House's cane.

"Oh no - sneaky, taking the stairs, Dr. Cuddy!" He said gleefully but he moved closer and lowered his voice. "Look, the odds of the next dean of medicine having your cleavage are slim-"

"I'm not going to get fired, House," she cut him off with a straight-faced lie. "I have it all under control." She reached out and gripped the handle of the door firmly, daring him with her expression to try to hit her fingers again as she opened the door and escaped through it.

III.

**Tuesday Night**

"_You have to keep it under control, Lisa," her mother said, patting her on the arm. _

_They were standing in a warehouse that Lisa knew was her living room and it was filled with boxes, all the boxes were labeled with what they held, some said "apples," others said "monkeys," one said "penguins," and they were all rocking gently from side to side. _

"_Now I have to go out and pick up something for the party. You just make sure those boxes stay closed and that nothing gets mixed up." _

"_Okay, Mom," she said, but even as she spoke, a box labeled "flamingos" exploded and there were pink feathers everywhere. Lisa ran, catching the birds and stuffing them back in the box, but when she did that, more seemed to get out, and all around her other boxes were bursting open. There were tiny little grand pianos dueling with teddy bears. Monkeys were chasing long-legged bananas around the room. And apples and oranges were at war. _

"_LISA!" She heard her mother calling, her voice harsh. "Lisa you failed!" …._

"No," Cuddy moaned. She didn't sit up; she put her hands over her face and shook her head. This was too much.

But she was so tired….

_And she was back in the boat, and now it was raining, and the boat was filling with water as well as being swamped by waves, and she couldn't…_

_Run, not in those shoes, not at that height; it was over, she could see the _thing_ bending over the baby, there was nothing she could do, she…_

…dragged herself upright and staggered into the bathroom, turning on the tap and letting the cold water run over her wrists before splashing it on her face. This had to stop.

**Wednesday**

"Thank you so much for taking my call," Cuddy said.

The blinds in her office were drawn and the door was locked. She'd have preferred to do this in the evening, but the time difference wouldn't allow it.

"I'm happy to be of service," the voice was smooth and pretentious, "and congratulations!"

"I'm sorry?" Cuddy frowned. She was sitting in her overstuffed chair, the wireless headset resting comfortably in her ear.

"The last time you called me professionally you were trying to decide whether or not to pursue having a child; I looked over my notes." The voice swelled with pompous self-congratulation. "I presume you're having doubts as your due date approaches, it's quite common—"

"No,"

"Now, let's not start off by taking a cruise on _De Nile_."

"Niles."

"Dr. Crane, this is a session. Oh, and my secretary wants to know if you still have the same Visa card?"

"Niles, I'm not pregnant. That's not why I'm calling you."

"You're not?"

"No, I failed to have a baby."

There was a shifting she could hear on the phone; she could almost see him. Dr. Niles Crane, slim, blond hair thinning fast and quite possibly the most affected heterosexual man she'd ever met. But he was an excellent psychiatrist - he was on the other side of the continent and he didn't keep any of his patient files in a computer. All important things when you needed counseling and you employed Gregory House.

"The F word," Niles murmured. "I'd hail it as a breakthrough if you weren't trying to distract me with it."

"Niles, I have a career crisis here, the hospital got handed a 200,000 fine. I have a hearing in two days in front of the Board of Governors and I can't sleep. "

"Two days? You're calling me with only two days? Michelangelo didn't paint the Sistine chapel in two days."

"I only found out on Monday. I'm having recurring nightmares and if I don't get some sleep and figure out a good defense, I'm going to lose my job and cancel that credit card."

"Two days?"

"Niles—"

"Dr. Crane—"

"Please focus," she growled.

"Oh all right," he sniffed loudly, "but you won't get my best work under pressure."

"I'll find a way to live with the disappointment."

**Forty-five minutes and 400 later…**

"So who do you think is out to get you?"

Cuddy had spent most of the session explaining her career crisis and then, at Nile's Jungian insistence, her dreams.

"Well, the Board of Directors of the hospital must have recommended action to the Board of Governors of the university, but that's not a surprise, they've wanted to get rid of me since I convinced them to give back a hundred million dollar donation."

"No," he said, "there's someone else. Those are known hazards, the waves and the figure that is moving toward the baby. Both times the dreams ended with you being ambushed from behind."

"What about the boxes?" Cuddy asked. Niles was getting at something, but she wasn't sure what.

"Common anxiety dream about loss of control," Niles said dismissively, "and it led into the two other nightmares."

And suddenly, Cuddy saw it. In each dream she'd been hyper-aware of her surroundings, but she'd lost control when she'd been hit from behind.

"Who told Conway about House's patient?"

"No idea, "Niles said cheerfully, "and we're out of time."

"Thanks Niles."

"I'd like to schedule another appointment for next week. That baby—"

"Bye, Dr. Crane." She reached up and pressed the earpiece of her phone, disconnecting the call as she thought again about what her subconscious had been trying to tell her.

Someone was out to get her, and it wasn't someone she expected to be a threat.

IV.

**Wednesday Night**

_She was running, the figure in front of her had the answer, had the knowledge that would save her, would save what she loved. _

_But it was so far ahead, she felt like crying in frustration; her every step was hampered by the mud that sucked at her feet as she tried to navigate the swamp, something that did not seem to hamper the thing she chased at all. _

_So she ran on and on, weeping. _

This is so stupid_, she thought, _I keep going in circles_._

_And she stopped dead and thought, and thought some more, and with the peculiar logic of dreams she turned around. _

_She waited as the figure, who had all the answers she needed, approached her. _

"_Hello, House…" _

**Thursday Morning**

"It's 4:00 a.m.!" a muffled voice shouted inside the apartment.

Cuddy knew what time it was though, and she kept knocking. House had been shouting at her for the last ten minutes or so but she'd be damned if she was going anywhere until she got the answers she needed.

She heard mumbling and grumbling through the door even as she kept pounding on it. At last, she heard the slow stumping tread of an angry diagnostician.

She was still knocking when the door was thrown open.

"It's 4:00 a.m.!" House bellowed into his hallway as Cuddy pushed past him and into his apartment.

House, with his hair standing straight up and his stubble in its aggressive stage, snarled at her before slamming the door.

"Who did it?" Cuddy demanded. She'd been working on the problem for days and she had narrowed the list down to a small group of people who could have turned House, and by extension her, into the inspector. The dream had narrowed it further.

"Professor Plum, in the conservatory, with the lead pipe," House said. "I'm going back to bed."

"Don't play stupid with me! You know who turned us into the inspector." Cuddy glared at him.

House rolled his eyes before stumbling to the piano bench and seating himself. "You said you had that under control," he sighed, rubbing his temples with the heels of his palms.

"I lied. I'm going to get fired tomorrow and Wilson and you are next."

"Good, maybe then I can get some _sleep_."

"I'm serious, House," Cuddy snapped. "If you want to get fired, all you ever had to do was let me know, but I worked hard to get where I am, and I like my job - you driving me insane notwithstanding."

"I need coffee for this conversation." House stumbled into his kitchen.

Cuddy sat on the couch with a sigh, leaning her head back.

"So we're all getting fired." House came back and stretched out on the lounge glowering at her. "And before this goes any further, I want my clinic hours reduced for time served."

"Hah, give it a week; you won't be able to get a job in a clinic. The closest you'll get to practicing medicine is … selling aspirin at a grocery store. "

"Nice, like you're employable," he snapped back. "Everyone knows _you're_ crazy - you hired _me_." House stopped for a moment, thinking.

"That's it." His face had the look he got when he solved one of his puzzles.

"What?"

"You think if you lose this job you won't get another one - not as prestigious, probably not in administration, maybe not in medicine. It will be as tough for you to find a job as it was for Foreman, tougher. You're going to be stocking produce while I bag the groceries." The words were harsh but House's tone was strangely benign.

"You're right. I don't want to get fired. _Who ratted you out to the inspector_?"

"Cuddy, what does it matter?" House's tone was still oddly gentle, and it bugged her. It was the tone he used when he told people they were dying; it couldn't be called kind, but it wasn't cynical and it wasn't cruel. It was as close to kindness as he got.

"It matters because if it's Chase, we're screwed. He wasn't involved directly in the case, which means he's supposedly unbiased and Conway can't be made to look evil for not doing anything himself if he objected that strongly to my… enabling your insanity, but if it is him I will at least make sure _he_ never practices medicine again either," she said grimly.

"He hates being a doctor," House pointed out, "although he's in complete denial about it."

"If it's Cameron—"

"It's not Cameron."

Cuddy rolled her eyes, "She's over you, House."

"That's what they all say," House said smugly, winking. "But it really wasn't her. If she was going to rat me out to the inspector, all she had to do was show him the paperwork you made her do. No my money is on our Dr. Foreman."

Cuddy closed her eyes with a groan.

"Yeah," House agreed, sipping his coffee, "Want me to fire him? Oh wait! I can't."

"Shut up," Cuddy mumbled. "Are you sure?" she asked after a few minutes.

"He was involved with the case. He knew I was… less objective than normal." House scratched his nose delicately and tried to look nonchalant.

Cuddy raised her head and gazed at him.

"Brock Sterling is the doctor I want to be when I grow up," House said defensively. "Handsome, tortured, banging barely clad D-cup nurses left, right and center. None of his patients die, they're 

all hot _and _he gets to bang them too. Who wouldn't want to be him? The point is, Foreman… I might have said the inspector had turned him into a coward."

"Great."

"And he might not have agreed about the allergy thing," House elaborated. "Once you gave me the green light, which was_ stupid_, Foreman wouldn't have bothered objecting to you, not when there was someone he could complain to who was over your head and conveniently in the hospital."

"It wasn't stupid," Cuddy said, leaning back again and contemplating House's ceiling. "I just got tired of being the asshole." She shook her head and stood up. "I have work to do. Try not to kill anybody until after the weekend."

"Don't you want to go out in a blaze of glory?"

"Nobody's getting fired."

Cuddy smiled. It was a tired, stressed smile, but even House could see the hint of triumph in it.

"You're the crazy one." House said, harsh now as he hadn't been before.

Cuddy's smile widened. "I have a plan, and this is the kind of thing _I'm _good at."

**Thursday Night **

_She walked out onto the stage; her hands were sweating and she could feel her heart pounding as a powerful spotlight picked her out. _

"_Good evening ladies and…" She looked at the sheaf of papers in her hand. They were blank. "People." _

_She could feel the eyes on her; the auditorium was full, and this was the most important thing, the most important speech of her life. _

"_Would you please put some clothes on?" a voice from the audience asked derisively. _

_Cuddy looked down and she was naked. She dropped the pages and covered herself the best she could, even as the people in the audience started to snigger at her. _

"_We're sorry," a voice came over the intercom, "Lisa Cuddy's speech has been canceled. Thank you for your patience." _

"_No!" Cuddy shouted. Forgetting she was nude, she walked up to the podium and started to give her speech. "Goodeveinglaidesandgentlemen," she shrieked, but the microphone wasn't working and the people in the audience were leaving. _

"_Wait, stop!" she tried to yell as she ran to the bottom of the stage. "I'm here, I have my speech." But the words came out in a whisper and no one heard them… _

She woke up and bolted for the bathroom, where she heaved repeatedly into the toilet until her stomach was empty. She sat on the floor and laid her head for a moment on the cool porcelain of the bowl.

This was familiar territory; she'd had similar dreams before her oral boards, before she presented her paper on atypical papillary adenocarcinomas, before she interviewed for the Dean's position. She took a deep breath and reviewed her plans for the morning, taking the nightmare as a good sign. It was scary of course, but she'd never had it before she failed, and she wasn't going to fail now.

**Friday Mid-Afternoon**

She'd dressed for the occasion. A full black skirt and charcoal grey jacket over a lavender silk shirt, and a gold necklace she'd inherited from her grandmother. Cuddy knew she looked both business-like and feminine.

She smiled at Foreman as he came into her office. He looked mildly contrite, which she figured was the most she could expect. He had done what he thought he had to do for the patient.

She turned to the other man sitting in front of her desk. "Thank you so much for coming, Mr. Grier," she said, giving him her most dazzling smile.

"Well, House is a nut job, I can't lie about that," he said, pushing his sunglasses up with one finger as he fidgeted uncomfortably.

Foreman snorted and Cuddy laughed.

"No one would believe you if you said he wasn't a nut job." Cuddy assured him. "I know this is an imposition for you—"

"He saved my life, least I can do is help save his job." The man squirmed again.

"All you have to do is tell the truth, about what House did, how you felt at the time, and how you feel now." She looked at Foreman who looked dubious, but she gave him the nod. "Trust me, in this case, the truth will set us free."

**Disciplinary Hearing of the Board of Governors of Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital**

"… I admit I was hostile at the time. I still sort of am; I don't like getting kidnapped and drugged, but I like being alive and I _really_ like being able to get an erection again."

"Thank you, Mr. Grier," Elizabeth Whitrow said in an attempt to quell the actor. The Board of Governors had sat through Dr. Conway's testimony, and Foreman's, and now they were listening to Evan Grier.

"I had really missed being able to have sex is all I'm saying," he tried to explain.

"We understand that, Mr. Grier." John Burbage, an 80 year old retired dean of the law school, smiled on him. "In fact, I would venture that no one understands more than I do." There was a relaxed little laugh that ran around the room.

Cuddy kept her expression pleasantly neutral, knowing that any outward sign of smugness could destroy all the good will both Foreman and Grier had managed to get for her. Foreman, explaining about House's lack of objectivity and his own deep concern about a possible infection, had gone to Conway, a break in protocol of his own, when he heard that Cuddy had approved House's treatment.

And Conway had done nothing, letting events take their course - which had shocked Foreman, but not as much as Mr. Grier's rapid response to the steroids had. House had been correct about the acute vascular allergy; Foreman made it sound as if House simply hadn't had time to identify the allergen before starting treatment because of the patient's worsening condition. "If I had treated him for infection he would likely have died before we could administer the methylprednisolone. In this kind of case it's a judgment call. House made the correct judgment."

"If he hadn't, the patient would have died," Conway objected.

"If we'd gone by the protocol, Mr. Grier would have died." Foreman gestured to the man, who gave Conway a little wave. "The only difference is his next of kin couldn't have won the lawsuit." He shrugged. "It was a judgment call on Dr. House's part, and Dr. Cuddy's."

And now it was her turn.

"I am, of course, deeply saddened by the fact that the New Jersey Accreditation board chose to levy a 200,000 dollar fine on the hospital," she said, "and I assure the board that I do take protocols very seriously; they are, as Dr. Conway was kind enough to point out, appropriate and correct in roughly ninety-five percent of our patients' cases. Where we differ is in what happens to the other five percent."

Cuddy straightened her shoulders and looked at the board calmly. "I don't think it's appropriate to condemn them to ineffective treatments and possibly serious consequences, which in Mr. Grier's case would have included death, because they fall outside the box of current established medical protocols. Dr. Conway said everyone thinks they are the five percent; I've been a doctor for twenty years and Dean of this hospital for nearly ten. I approve all experimental and high risk procedures.

My approval of Dr. House's course of treatment in Mr. Grier's case was not given without qualm or hesitation, especially as I knew the likelihood of Mr. Grier's care being compromised fatally if Dr. House were wrong. But a judgment had to be made, and I stand by it. " She gave small shrug. "It's what you hired me for."

"True, but a two hundred thousand dollar fine…" Miles Jackson, a bean counter, whined.

And here came the hard part, but there were always sacrifices.

"I'm willing to pay half of the fine myself," she said, completely casually, as if giving away 100,000, roughly four IVF attempts, was something she did every day, "and reduce my salary by 20 percent for the next five years as a means of re-couping the rest."

She leaned forward and pinned the old fossils who ruled the university with her eyes. They'd all come from positions like hers; they had all once had to make life and death decisions, or at the very least, career defining decisions, for other people.

"Please understand that my gesture is_ not_ an admission of guilt," she said, levelly and slowly, hoping they would hear it, hoping they would hear _her_. "I stand by my decision to let Dr. House proceed with his treatment. But sometimes making the right choices can have negative consequences, and you still have to take responsibility for them."

"Great speech," she heard Grier mummer to Foreman, and Conway looked like he'd just eaten a bug. She had to fight to repress her smile.

"Thank you, Dr. Cuddy," Whitrow said. "The board will meet in private now."

**Friday, 4:30 p.m.**

"You're paying the fine yourself?" House was wearing his jacket and sunglasses, obviously on his way out.

Cuddy nodded and gave him a weary smile from behind her desk. "The fine was the deal breaker; of course, if Grier had died there wouldn't have been a lot we could do. As it is, everybody gets to keep their jobs"

"But cutting your own salary by twenty percent?" House paused a moment. "You're way overprotective of the Hospital, you know that?"

_And me._ He didn't say the words but she heard them.

"I'll buy skimpier outfits." Cuddy assured him, knowing that was as close to thanks as House would come.

"Be still my loins." He cocked an eyebrow at her. "Come on, poor person, let's go get hammered."

"You buying?" she asked, surprised.

"Hell no, but with your legs, someone will."

"You're a menace," she told him, but her tone was fond. "Get out of here, I have work to do."

**Friday Night**

_She sat in the boat and rocked the baby. The sea was smooth and calm, and she could see an island that promised shelter in the distance. _

_The baby fussed in her arms, and she cooed and brought it to her breast. The baby nursed gently as she hummed to him. He was looking at her with eyes like glass, in which she could see Wilson, Foreman, House, Nurse Brenda, and all the people who made up her hospital, reflected._

_The baby began to fuss again, opening his mouth and wailing in a shrill, insistent, repetitive tone…_

Cuddy's eyes opened wearily, and she reached for the phone she kept at her bedside.

"What?" she mumbled.

"Cuddy, it's Wilson," she heard her friends voice. "There's been a major bus crash, the Princeton Cross-town; we have a lot of patients coming through here."

She sat up slowly, "I'll be there in..." She looked at her clock. "Twenty minutes." She mumbled.

"Cuddy," Wilson hesitated a moment, "House was on the bus."

End

AN: 2. our mystery guest star psychiatrist was none other than Dr. Niles Crane, late of the TV sitcom Fraser. I hesitated to mention him in the first authors note because this is _not _a crossover. I needed a shrink for the story, I don't care for the two psychiatrists we've seen on House (Dr. Stone who convinced the rape victim in ODOR to attempt suicide and Mira Sorvino's character who didn't change her socks) I also needed one who'd take dream analysis seriously and not go all Freud on Cuddy's ass, as a Jungian Niles fit the bill.


End file.
